Breaking
by ulstergirl
Summary: Set at the end of Season 3. Clark's about to leave Earth, maybe forever, but he has one last stop to make.


They stared up at the sky together, speechless, and Lois suddenly, irrationally felt that if she could somehow pull the window closed, shut the cold air out and put glass firmly between them and that distant planet, if she could just muster the courage to tug on the sill and let the window fall down, he would never leave. He would never be able to.

Clark looked down at her, his eyes and jaw set, and she met his gaze with an angry willingness. Angry because she was being selfish. He had to leave. She had already given him the ring he wore around his neck; she had already packed; mentally she had already said goodbye.

But she was going to miss him like hell.

After denying for so long the devotion and love between them, after everything that had happened in her life since she had been partnered with him, after she had given up on marriage when Lex had fallen to his temporary death, she had cautiously entered this relationship. The man she was engaged to had lied to her for years, and the qualms he assured her of didn't serve to reassure her. He had felt bad, but he had lied. For a very long time. And that lie had nearly driven them completely apart.

She wondered, very briefly, what would have happened, had she been granted a new partnership from Perry after her first date with Clark. Once she had both physically and emotionally felt the relationship between them fall into place, she had shied away, as though undeserving of the absolute and unwavering devotion Clark offered with no front, no pride of any kind. She didn't deserve him; she knew that. But with her, apart from him but still on Earth, would he have left willingly? She knew she could hurt him; after her refusal of his first marriage proposal, for a week he had been a man she did not know. What if their relationship had stayed at that weak, pacing state? Would he have flown off the planet with no thought of turning back, his future with Zara and Ching set in stone he himself had forged?

Was their relationship the only thing keeping him here, besides sentiment and his adoptive parents? Was she the thing standing between peace and genocide for his people?

She could not accept that responsibility.

But after every word spoken between them and Zara and Ching, he had looked to her. There was something more than a need for guidance in his eyes. Something symbiotic between them, something that made her doubt herself. Clark had his own free will, but her every whim was rule to him. The Swiss chocolates and French cheeses stood mute testament to his willingness to fulfill her every daydream.

But her grandest, best daydream would stand unfulfilled, after everything they had been through. After the amnesia and shrinking and kidnappings and clonings, after everything, she wanted nothing more than to take root in front of the barbecue, if only he would promise he would never leave again. She would tie him to her with bands of iron or steel, something he could never break, and she would be safe again.

It didn't work that way. It never had.

The decision to leave Earth had always been his, but she could tell something inside him died every time he saw her crying. So when he had come into her apartment that night, she had bit her lip so hard she was sure it was bleeding and had held it back, refused to let him see that she would probably just curl up in a ball on the floor and never see sunlight again without him.

But now he was looking into her eyes, and that strange, somewhat uncomfortable bond that manifested itself in all the most inconvenient ways was back again.

Lois broke.

He took a slow, startled breath, and she could hear his words, less than spoken, inside her head. _oh, lois, don't cry_

The last time they would see each other, the last time for what could be her whole lifetime. Maybe Zara's presence had interrupted the timeline Wells had set down for them, and she did not remember anything about other residents of Krypton from the times Wells had saved them from certain destruction. It was entirely possible that the utopia she and Clark were to create was now a dystopia, and the landslide the human race was barreling down would reach no sudden end but fall off into a cliff darker than anything they had ever faced.

Maybe the ring now hanging around his neck would hang there for all eternity, would never weight her finger, would never truly cement the bond between them.

He caught her lips with his, and the rage and anger built like a hot wave in her lungs. He was going to go where he would be truly human, his powers lying dormant, where his very presence would not inspire the same sort of awe it did on Earth. He would be a leader, but one among many. A Krypton among other Kryptons. Married to one. Sleeping with one--

never Lois thought, but time would wear down on him as surely as it had her. And she could not blame him. Zara was a pretty woman, and Clark had never intended to be a monk for all of his life.

She pulled his head down to hers, crying silently, listening to the thud of his all-too-human heart, and the aeration in the fish tank. There was nothing else. Her whole life would be wrapped up in those two sounds, in the feeling of his lips, hot and desperate, against her own. She would never truly live, once she had watched him as a speck of light fly toward some distant star, away from her, so damn far away.

_in my heart, i am your husband_

Even though her eyes were closed and her head was spinning, she knew he was leading her toward the couch. In an instant she pulled back, her eyelashes parting, her eyes wet and tears trailing down her face. His own face seemed set in stone, against his own battling fear and resolve.

She took his hand, but halfway to her bedroom he was kissing her again, bracing her against any flat surface. Earlier she had felt drained, but dread reanimated her, and she was meeting his every kiss. Her heart was pounding with her own resolve. She wanted more than his engagement ring on her finger. She wanted the solid substance of him, she wanted to look down at her bed and remember this one time--

He bore her to the bed, just as he had in virtual reality. For a second she thought that maybe he himself was crying, but Clark Kent, Lois was sure, had never cried in his whole life. Something about him radiated goodness so strongly that he would find himself on the best side of any situation without even trying, regardless of Lex Luthor or amnesia or clones or martial arts experts or even his fellow Kryptons. And that was part of what she loved about him. She shoved her own doubt and fear to one side, reaching for the buttons of his shirt. He had lost the leather jacket somewhere in the kitchen.

They had been together before. Never very far; Clark had hormones, but he was honorable. It made her a little sick every time they stopped, though. All those men before him, all the relationships with sex instead of marriage at the end. She felt like she had betrayed him a little. But he didn't care, and that was part of what made him so perfect. He would just look at her and say that he loved all of who she was and what she was, and wouldn't change a thing about her.

Lois didn't feel the same. She would have spat in Lex's face at his marriage proposal and run into Clark's waiting arms, had she known everything that she knew now.

He wasn't wearing the suit. As they tugged his shirt from his body, Lois felt the slightly unexpected heat of his bare skin against her fingertips, relished it. She would have to carve every single second of the night into her memory if she wanted that as her cold comfort.

He was nuzzling her neck, his hands pulling at the hem of her shirt, his legs entwined around her own, when she drew his face back up to hers and kissed him, unbearably slowly. They had all night. As long as there weren't any unexpected earthquakes in Brazil or attacks of mountain lions in some other foreign country, she had all night to spend in his arms and get it right, just as they could have, had Lex not interfered.

She had always felt a little strange when she remembered that Clark had spent two nights with her clone before he had discovered that she was not the woman he loved, and he had sworn to her that there had been no physical relationship between them. Lois had to believe him; he would be nursing a guilt larger than the moon, had anything happened.

He pulled her shirt up over her head and paused, his face lit only by moonlight. Lois lifted a trembling hand and took off his glasses, folded them carefully and placed them on her nightstand. As her gaze met his own again, he traced the lines of her cheek almost reverently, his whole body hard as steel against her, pressing her into the mattress. She knew then, just as she always had, that he would be a steady, calm, considerate lover, the type her personality had sent packing long before she had become that intimate with them. But Clark was different. He had spent years chipping away at the cheerfully anti-social wall she had built around her. And she loved him all the more for it.

Clark leaned down and they kissed again, one hand buried in her hair, the other wrapped around her waist. Lois ran a hand over his dark hair, then raked her fingernails down the bulletproof skin of his back, feeling the muscles ripple beneath. He gasped, his eyes hot and dark, and Lois knew that tonight, tonight would be it. They had never been so far and they had never had so much reason as they did that night.

The phone rang, but even Clark with his super-hearing didn't respond. They rolled over on the bed, making small noises and moaning and gasping at each other, savoring the bittersweet taste of it.

"Lois? It's Martha."

Lois sat up in bed, clutching her unclasped bra to her chest. Clark lay half-naked beneath her, sprawled out and gasping as though he had just run a million miles.

"Jonathan and I were just wondering if you had seen Clark-- we're worried about him."

Lois shot Clark a short glance before she reached over, tucking the phone between her shoulder and face as she answered, "Yes, Martha, I'm here, Clark's here too." She reached behind her, fastening the hooks with years of experience, and handed the phone to her fiancée, whose breathing was finally recovering. They shot each other rueful glances as Clark reassured his mother. Lois found it hilarious that still, after so many years, they felt embarrassed, just as though she had come and found them together instead of merely calling.

Clark hung up the phone, pinched the bridge of his nose for a second before he turned to face her. She had not moved; she still sat there, her back against the headboard, her fingers drawing slow circles on the comforter.

"She was just-- worried," Clark said, finishing off with a sigh. The darkness made his voice soft, hid the hard lines of his profile and body.

"We all are," Lois whispered, and trailed her fingertips down his spine. He shivered a little, and then a weak smile came to his lips. He reached out and cupped her cheek in his hand, just as he had done in both his personalities, the little clue that had revealed his secret.

"I don't want to leave you," he murmured, his gaze falling on her lips.

"People will die," she reminded him, then wrapped her arms around his neck, resting her head on his chest. He slid his arms around her, and now he was the one carving the feel of her skin into his memory.

"I feel like I'll die."

He rocked her to sleep in his arms, but when she woke he was gone.


End file.
